On being an Onion Girl

I decided to make this blog in part because I was considering how much I have to say that I don’t. Sometimes this is because of context – obviously, I can’t go confessing my deepest darkest secrets to some person in the supermarket. Other times, it’s because of persona. I have a personal blog I keep, and the people who read it are ostensibly my friends. They read everything I write through the assumptions they have about my persona.

Why Onion Girl? I read the book by the same name once. I was at a boyfriend’s house and found it on the coffee table. His roommate had left it there. So, I emailed her to ask if I could borrow it, she said yes, and I started reading. Eight hours later I finished it, and found it to be an incredible book. Charles de Lint is a genius. That’s no surprise. I was fascinated by the concepts he was willing to visit, and how well he was able to get into the female minds in his books. One of his characters, Jilly, the “onion girl”, talks about what it’s like growing up as a Child of the Secret.

Being a child of the secret in her mind is about losing your trust in people because of abuse, neglect, sexual assault, or other painful experiences. As I read I began to feel a kinship to the term, and I use it in life now and then, particularly when talking to someone else who is a Child of the Secret. So why Onion Girl? I suppose I feel an equal kinship to Jilly, despite the fact that she suffered far worse than I did in many ways. I was fascinated with the idea of being an onion, hiding things inside my skin that no one ever saw. So perhaps this blog is about peeling back the layers anonymously.

Yes, you could look up my IP, see if I’m someone you know. Don’t. Please. If you think I am someone you know, and you worry for the things I write, reach out to the person you think I might be and give them support. Hopefuly some good can come of this.

The funny thing is, I hate onions. Despise them. I barely tolerate them in pasta sauce. The smell irritates me, cutting them is a huge trial, and I can’t stand the texture of the cellulose in their flesh. Ironic.

Today as I was having a cigarette and thinking of starting this blog, I looked down at my hands. I have eczema, which is blessedly not as bad as it could be. I don’t have weeping sores or bloody hands, for which I am quite grateful. But as I looked down at my hands and thought about what I would write here, I realized that the skin of my hands is peeling off. I started to laugh, then I coughed on smoke, then I laughed more until I’m sure I startled some poor person walking by my porch. Onion girl indeed.

Not a bad place to start.

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~ by oniongirl13 on March 24, 2009.

One Response to “On being an Onion Girl”

  1. I think you are incredibly brave. Thank you for sharing.

    Kate

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